A visit to my grandparents house meant two things: an endless amount of spoiling and a lesson to be learned. At their house, I had access to a drawer filled with all of my favorite candy, I turned the tree in their front yard into a secret hut that we saw as a mystical castle, and I always had my wants catered to. My grandparents never let me be bored because even a hint dullness would result in a list of activities to do. Every visit ended with a lesson that would have been learned from the expression on my grandparent’s faces, shared with me through the conversations or told to me directly from a bible verse read by my grandmother. I received years of praise from both my grandma and my grandpa. However, the time I spent with the two of them did not lack lecturing. The firm expressions accompanied by a stoic finger pointing at me made me want to avoid making mistakes so I would never have to see the disappointment on their faces again. Like every other child, I made my fair share of mishaps, yet I was always forgiven for my actions. The days spent at my grandparents left me filled with stories to share and food forced upon me. The positive praises contrasted by scolds at my grandparents house shape who I am today. Once the bump of the railroad tracks bounces me out of my leather seat, I know I am close to seeing the familiar smile of two of the most important people in my life. With the final turn, I prepare myself for a day of being pampered. This mundane drive occurred
There have been countless influential people in my life that I’ve come across. One who was a meticulous inspiration continues to be my grandfather. My grandmother had remarried to the one I call “grandpa” when I was at the age of five, and they both took to each other’s grandchildren as their own. With my mother and me only living a mile down the road from their farmhouse out in the country, I’d spent heaps amount of time there as a child. Indeed, I had been without a father but my grandfather stepped up to the plate and had taken me under his wing and willingly played the personification of a father figure.
However, one character in my life was never ordinary; in fact, he was the exact definition of extraordinary. My “papaw” became my favorite playmate, my other half, and my best friend. We were commonly referred to as "two peas in a pod" and " each other's pride and joy." I loved my grandpa in the deepest, most sincere way a young child could. As I grew older, my grandpa assumed the role of my confidant and supporter. When my grandmother would scold me or when my sister and I would argue, I knew that I could retreat into the loving arms of my grandfather. The only thing that he ever did to upset me was when he said, "When I go, I'll miss everyone, but I'll miss you the most, Bug." Little did I know, I would soon long to hear these
My parents sent me to China soon after I was born to be in the care of my grandparents due to financial circumstances. For five years, I regarded my grandparents as my parental figures, and I always questioned why my “parents” were so old compared to my friends’ parents. I realized the truth the first time my mom called me and my grandparents told me who she was. After that phone call, my parents started to call me more frequently, and I always asked them questions about their life, as I was curious. Usually, I would forget these conversations, but sometimes, after a call, I wondered how different their lives were from mine’s; I imagined them as being wealthy and living in a big house. While I enjoyed talking to them, I never imagined the day that I would receive the shocking news that I was going to move to America to live with my
Recalling around the age of ten, he spent two repulsive weeks with them. Each night after his grandmother took her medication and went to sleep. His step-grandfather went into his room and threatened to harm his grandmother if he told anyone what he did to him. A few nights later, unable to remain silent any longer, Andrew told his supposedly, loving grandmother everything. She surprised him by saying, “Your grandfather loves and treats you special. He would never hurt you or allow anyone else to harm you.”
The car's wheels caress the highway lovingly. I forget the rumble of the cars behind for a moment, instead focusing on the insignificant touching of the wheels and ground. My sister sat at the wheel seemingly waiting for some kind of sign, waiting for me. She spoke, “Are you excited about moving back to Meetleburg?” As if, I am leaving behind all that I have worked for in the past four-teen years! I stayed silent to the dismay of my sister.
“ YOU turned this on? YOU want to turn like your father? That little BRAT!!! YOUR father is a brat, that’s right he doesn’t care if HE hurts YOU, he only cares about himself!!!!” bellowed Grandpa scoffingly, I felt like I was about to cry, but I couldn’t, no I wouldn’t, grandpa doesn’t believe in crying, says it shows weakness (I think it show humanity, but that’s just my opinion),so holding back tears I walked back to the recliner and sat down, wishing that day would
My dad was unable to take care of me, so my aunt offered to. The language barrier between my aunt’s family and I was evident; she spoke Mandarin while I spoke Cantonese. As I was transitioning from one dialect to the next, I also needed to learn English. My six year old brain was still able to develop and grow fluent to this change. Soon enough, I began to memorize all the different foods I saw on the labels on the shelves when my aunt took me grocery shopping. Through my constant flipping of flash cardings of animals and everyday objects, I finally mustered up confidence to conduct a proper conversation with my peers during recess. I also engrossed myself into the cartoon TV shows everyday as I tried to comprehend what they were talking about. Little did I know that I began to question my family situation the more exposed I was to their portrayal perfect families. I always asked myself, “ If Arthur, Peppa, and Dora all lived with their parents, why wasn’t I?” As I grew older, I dreaded birthdays and holidays because it created a longing inside me for a family reunion that had no chance of happening. Seeing parents supporting their kids warped my mind into fearing judgement from others. I fought off that mindset because I started to see that I only had myself to
As a young girl, I never quite understood the importance my dad’s job had on me until I became much older. Throughout my childhood I was often mistreated out of the sight of my parents. From brutal words to simple exclusion, I never really fit in at my church. I was constantly separated from all of the children because I was the Pastor’s
Right across the street, five steps, five hops, and 2 giant steps that was all it took for me to get to my grandmas house from my front door to her front door, it was that easy. One glance out the window to make sure her small tan explorer was in there driveway and it was off to grandma's house, the place where most of my childhood memories formed,the place that was so old it traveled from Kentucky to Missouri with my grandparents, the place that meant a lot to me.
I am most content when I am at my grandparent’s house. It is the most relaxing place in the world. Right as I walk in the door, the smell of either fresh baked cookies or hot blueberry pancakes with maple syrup make you feel welcomed right as you walk in the door. But that is just the great smell, they taste even better. My grandma’s cookies are always good but are best right out of the oven. The soft heated cookie with melted chocolate chips just melts in your mouth. And my grandpa's mouthwatering steaming blueberry pancakes can make anybody feel great and ready for their day. One of my favorite thing to do is watch sports with grandpa. It isn't much but it relaxes me. Another great memory is Easter. Every Easter
The familiar smell of soft cookies and homemade cooking are common thoughts when people think about their grandma's house. Great feasts and family gatherings play a part in everyone's grandmother's home. But when I really think about my grandma's house only one word comes to my mind: fun.
The crunch of frozen grass could be heard a mile away at five o’clock in the morning. My grandpa and I whispered conversation as we strolled over to our favorite deer blind. We cautiously marched over sticks trying hard not to make any sounds. We eventually made it without spooking any deer and set our guns down, waiting for sunrise. These are the times I enjoy the most with my grandpa. It is a chance to sit back and enjoy life with one of my favorite people on this planet. Time goes slower in these moments. It gives us a chance to share conversation about anything. We swap stories from the past and I always seem to learn something new from my grandpa. Whether it be from advice he gives me or from an experience long ago, I’m always listening. Although our experiences may be different we still love to enjoy the same hobbies together, whether it’s woodworking, hunting, or time out on the lake; sharing life with my grandpa is priceless.
The fleeting changes that often accompany seasonal transition are especially exasperated in a child’s mind, most notably when the cool crisp winds of fall signal the summer’s end approaching. The lazy routine I had adopted over several months spent frolicking in the cool blue chlorine soaked waters of my family’s bungalow colony pool gave way to changes far beyond the weather and textbooks. As the surrounding foliage changed in anticipation of colder months, so did my family. My mother’s stomach grew larger as she approached the final days of her pregnancy and in the closing hours of my eight’ summer my mother gently awoke me from the uncomfortable sleep of a long car ride to inform of a wonderful surprise. No longer would we be returning
“The House I Live In,” a movie that explains the war on drugs from multiple perspectives from addict to enforcement and lawmaker between.
My grandmother’s house has a very special place in my heart. As the family has gotten older and we have all had our own children we do not visit as we should. I visited with my grandmother many times when I was little. Her house always seemed to have something about it that set it apart from all the rest. As you walk into the back door of her house you would notice a long, narrow kitchen that led into the main living and dining room of her house. The smell of food home cooked food was quite evident. Grandmother cooked every day and always cooked big meals on holidays for the family.